Windowpanes
by Mycroft-mione
Summary: Merope Gaunt can't help but walk into the Riddle house, the place where her one true love resides. And her father and brother can't help but plot a trick of their own. Warning: mentions of abuse


Word count: 1,339

Written for:

QLFC - Unfortunately, I wasn't able to post, so this fic didn't make it in on time. The prompt I had was "FLUFF about the GAUNT FAMILY." You can see where that went wrong... Oh well.

Hogwarts Muggle Studies Assignment - Write about an invasion. Extra prompt: (Plot Point) Theft

Year-Long Scavenger Hunt Competition - B41: (era) Riddle

* * *

 **Windowpanes**

* * *

She was running.

- _She hurried, clutching the tattered ends of her dress as her shoes grew damp and cold from mud in the street_ -

Yet the house before her rose tall from the weeds, a mansion in a town of hovels. No one who lived inside its walls worked from dawn till dusk for no reward. None of the rich people suffered as she did.

Tom Riddle was a beautiful boy - yes, he was.

Merope's feet slowed to a stop as her hand brushed against the door's polished wooden surface. With just moments to spare, she raised the slim, crooked stick in her hand, clutching the magic wand with quivering fingers.

Cold sweat stuck pieces of hair to her forehead. "Alohamora!" she whispered.

Footsteps echoed in the distance, and Merope's face twisted in anxiety. She yanked open the now-unlocked door and slipped inside the hall, closing the door behind her before sparing a glance to her surroundings.

She was alone.

. . . . .

"She's gone again," he growled, stomping a foot on the floor. His boot made a shallow imprint in the dust layer there.

"I know," was the reply. Morfin read the look in his father's eyes and saw the answer.

"Let's go." He grinned, blackened teeth highlighting a cruel face.

. . . . .

Vaguely, Merope remembered wanting to come and visit the boy in the window, the beautiful boy in the carriage with the crisp white tailored shirt. She wanted to come see him because he was beautiful. He would be her prince and come take her away.

There was no one in the sitting room, no one in the kitchens.

Morfin and Marvolo didn't like him. They jeered as he rode by, and when Merope smiled pleasantly at the thought of him, they took her smile away. They smashed it into the ground and covered it up with mud.

Stuff their mud. Once Merope found someone, she would be a princess.

Her feet found their way into a grand bathroom, complete with smooth stone countertops and the aroma of sweet soaps. Merope stopped in her tracks, wide-eyed at the sight of a large white bathtub in the corner of the room.

It was a simple matter of pulling her dress over her head and settling into the water. Merope made sure to test its temperature with a few fingers - like a proper princess - _didn't princesses have servants?_ \- first. Her only thoughts were of Tom Riddle and her, together and gleaming like the most beautiful a couple could be.

He would love her dearly.

. . . . .

"Let's have a little fun today, Morfin."

The younger man eyed the Riddle house with distaste, but a smirk grew across his lips. "It's what the little brat deserves."

. . . . .

Voices sounded below Merope's feet, and she froze, noticing the wrinkles on her fingers. The bubbles were nearly gone. She could see her form with near-perfect clarity. It was probably five o'clock.

Merope rushed about, hoping to leave the room as she'd left it, but the voices grew nearer, she realized they would find her. Helpless, she dressed herself and waited in the bathroom, shaking.

The next few moments passed quicker than Merope could process - one blink, she was quaking under the warm incandescent light - the next, the door was torn open and two men stood before her.

 _"There you are," Marvolo would say, and Morfin would guffaw, and she would cry, and Marvolo would grab her by the hair and slap her across the face, once, twice…_

Marvolo was gazing at her with a kinder expression than she'd ever seen him show.

"There you are," he said calmly, making a forced attempt at a smile, showing his rotten teeth. Merope hated them. But her eyes were caught in this impossible sight, and she froze even more than before, held upright only by the towel rod she clung to.

"Come downstairs with us," Morfin commanded, and Merope sailed, dreamlike, down the stairs, them at her back, and before she knew it they were seated in the fantastic dining room. Wallpaper covered the walls, and the silverware was not silver, but gold.

Marvolo took food from everywhere he could find it, piling ham, potatoes, and bread together onto a platter. They ate with fervor. Merope crammed food into her mouth without thinking, and opened her eyes to see Marvolo and Morfin staring at her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes wide in preparation for a blow.

Marvolo smiled.

"Finish your dinner, Merope."

. . . . .

"Room, room, bigger room, where is she?" sang Marvolo, sounding delightfully insane. The house was enormous, and full of things he wanted, but they were so disgusting and Muggle. They could wait.

His footsteps echoed through the house, and a tiny noise caused his head to jerk around until he faced a gilded white door.

"Morfin!"

His son appeared behind him. "This will be fun."

. . . . .

Merope wrung her hands together. When had Morfin ever turned down her offer to do the washing-up? Actually, when had she ever offered at all? Any delay in her daily chores would normally earn her a beating.

She was tense, caught off-guard by their friendly gazes and impossible sentences.

"I can do that," she said, letting the syllables trail away. No one was listening. Instead, Morfin piled dishes on the table, and Marvolo inspected a fine candlestick, eventually pocketing it.

"Why- why are you acting so…?"

She spoke again, this time slightly louder, and with more force behind it. "So strange?"

The men stopped. Slowly, they exchanged looks, then faced her. "Who did you call strange?" Morfin asked, in his usual warning tone. Merope backed into the wall.

Marvolo shook his head, as if laughing at stupid children. "Merope didn't mean it. She wouldn't say that about her betters. Would you, Merope?"

She shook her head, too, and didn't let it stop until the words were out. "No, no, of course not, no."

They paused, then smirked in unison. The same face on both of them. How did they do it?

"Good. That's right." Marvolo relaxed his shoulders. "-And you know what, girl?" he added. "You're so hoity-toity, being in this fancy house and all, why don't you go home early? Go to bed?"

"Really?" Merope couldn't believe her ears. "Th-thank you," she managed, and hurried out of the house at once, barely remembering to yank up her dress hem as she crossed the threshold of the Riddle house. It was all too much.

. . . . .

Morfin turned to his father.

"It's time," he said.

A crash echoed through the mansion, arriving to their ears like music. Marvolo smiled more genuinely than he had all afternoon.

"Now we run."

. . . . .

She was running.

- _The man in the suit and tie was shouting, waving his arms, and the fair lady in the automobile looked positively shocked_ -

Yet Merope didn't stop to stare at the fancy dress, didn't gape and gawk when the rich family appeared in front of her, angrily accusing her of theft. She knew she wasn't to blame.

Who would believe her?

Bitter tears rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away, but her clumsy fist simply smeared them deeper into her skin. She felt like a little girl, messy and foolish. She was foolish for falling for their game. Stupid.

 _Dumb little Merope, not good enough to go to school._

 _Dumb little Merope, not smart enough for books or dolls._

 _You're useless._

 _You're hideous._

A boy's voice called out to her, the voice of Prince Tom the Beautiful.

Merope tried to picture his face, but all she could see was shades of gray and all she could smell was dirt. It hurt, too. Her wrist was on fire. The flames bit her again and again.

Marvolo and Morfin would be angry. She hadn't run fast enough, hadn't realized their trick, hadn't done the washing-up.

And then _his_ voice again:

"I've got it. Her, that is. Father, I've got the thief girl. Shall I call for someone to take her away?"

The voice twisted, turning into something evil and awful, not beautiful.

Who would believe her?


End file.
